


More Than a Case of the Common Cold

by jawnlovesjumpers



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Short, Sick Sherlock, sick, taking care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawnlovesjumpers/pseuds/jawnlovesjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the world's only consulting detective can get sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Case of the Common Cold

It all started at the scene of a double murder. A couple had been having an affair, and now both participants were dead. Sherlock was in the middle of one of his infamous deductions; he was about to reach the climax -the part where he told everyone the answer to the great mystery before them- when it happened. He suddenly broke out into a fit of violent coughing, cutting off his words abruptly. When it passed, after about five seconds, he took a deep breath and shook it (as well as the concerned questions) off as if nothing had happened.

It happened once again when he and John were in the flat that evening. The coughing broke the heavy silence lingering in the room, nearly causing John to jump from his chair. He did get up, however, and rush to Sherlock's side, the doctor in him taking over. The coughing ended as soon as it had begun, and Sherlock took a deep breath.  
"Are you all right?" John asked, a worried look playing on his face.  
"Fine, yeah," was Sherlock's response.  
"That cough doesn't sound good at all. You should get it checked out."  
"You're a doctor."  
"Yes, but it's probably best that you go to the hospital. This isn't the first time this has happened, I know. Greg told me about it happening earlier."  
"I don't have time to go to the hospital," Sherlock sighed.  
"Okay. All right, fine," John said, giving up with a sigh of his own. "Do you have any other symptoms?"  
"No."  
John looked at his flatmate through slightly narrowed eyes before taking a deep breath.  
"Are you feeling tired?"  
"Yes," Sherlock answered after taking a deep breath.  
"Do you have a fever?" John asked, but put his hand gingerly on Sherlock's forehead anyway.  
"I don't have a fever."  
"God, you're burning up." He shook his head. "Are you feeling any pain?"  
"I have been feeling sore, yes," Sherlock answered, giving up.  
"Do you have any difficulty breathing?"  
Sherlock gave him his 'obviously' face, but John ignored it, too busy going over a mental checklist.  
"I could be wrong, but it sounds like you've got bronchitis," he said. "Could've come from that cold you had last week."  
"I didn't have a cold last week."  
"Yes, you did. Anyway, you're too sick to work. You need to take some time off, or it'll just get worse. Stay in bed, drink lots of fluids. I'll get you some medicine tomorrow."  
"I'm not going to stop my work, John," he said as if the doctor had not continued. "I'm fine."  
"Sherlock, even the world's only consulting detective can get sick. Now, as your doctor, I'm telling you that you need to rest.  
After a few hours of debating and arguing, Sherlock finally gave in to John's requirements.

Sherlock had been on bed rest for less than twenty four hours before he became restless. This came as no surprise to John. At the end of the first day, he brought a bowl of steaming soup to Sherlock's room. Sherlock was sitting upright in his bed, fiddling with John's laptop.  
"Why can't you use your own?" John asked, approaching his bedside.  
"Yours was closer," Sherlock answered.  
John opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when he was unable to think of anything clever. Sherlock sat the laptop beside him as John handed him the bowl.  
"Here, eat. It'll help."  
Sherlock examine the bowl and its contents before taking a spoonful in his mouth to test it. It seemed to be satisfactory, and he continued eating.  
"I'm going to the store to buy you sleeping medicine," John said. "Is there anything you'd like?"  
Sherlock began to shake his head before he broke into another fit of coughing. John quickly took the bowl from him and set it on the bedside table. The coughs racked Sherlock's entire body and sounded horrific. But they were over soon, and they left him nearly gasping for breath. John did not speak, just watched worriedly, knowing Sherlock would let him know if he could help. But he just shook his head again.  
"Stay in bed, all right?" John asked as Sherlock took a sip of water.  
"All right," he answered, but John had a feeling he'd be out of bed before John got back.

When John returned home, he discovered that his deduction had been correct; Sherlock was lounging on the couch, reading some sort of science journal.  
"Ah, welcome back, John," he said, sounding relatively normal once again. "Did you pick up what I asked for?"  
"You didn't ask for anything," John answered, confused. He could feel agitation tugging at him, but he forced himself to be patient.  
"I texted you."  
"Well I left my phone here."  
"That would explain why you didn't answer."  
Sherlock closed the thin pages of the journal and nearly jumped off the couch.  
"What's gotten in to you?" John asked. Then, "I thought I told you to stay in bed."  
"That medicine you gave me must really be working," he answered. "And you did. But I was bored." He made his way to the kitchen, and John followed him.  
"You need rest, Sherlock. I know you seem to be feeling better now, but it'll get bad again. And I'm recommending that you get back in bed."  
"Only if you come with me."  
Sherlock's calm demand surprised John. He didn't answer. He wasn't sure how to answer. Sherlock looked back at him with The Face.  
"Oh, come now, I'm not going to be coy."  
John hesitated, but eventually followed Sherlock to his room. Sherlock, seemingly full of new energy, nearly jumped into his bed.  
"Now, entertain me," he said, looking expectantly at John.  
"What? How?" John asked as he sat at the foot of the bed.  
"You're the one making me stay here, so make it...less boring. Figure something out."  
It was getting late, but John agreed. 'Anything to make a patient more comfortable,' he thought.

When John woke up, he quickly realized that he was not in his own room. He had fallen asleep whilst sitting upright, which was strange for him. He looked around the room, and he finally became aware of where he was. He looked to his right and saw Sherlock on his side, facing away from John. He appeared to be fast asleep. John attempted to get up as quietly as humanly possible, but he heard Sherlock murmur something sleepily.  
"John."  
John froze, unsure of whether he should answer or not.  
"Yes?"  
"Stay."  
After a moment of slight confusion and much consideration, John gave his simple answer.  
"All right."  
He assumed that Sherlock was just talking in his sleep, referring to some odd, medication-fueled dream he was having. The sleeping medication John had given him was said to cause odd dreams, after all. Or perhaps it was some stray thought in his overwhelming mind. But John could not see that Sherlock smiled sleepily at his answer.

The next time John woke up, it was to a fit of coughing beside him. He sat up immediately and turned to Sherlock, who looked as if he were gasping for air. John got up quickly, getting quite light-headed in the process, and rushed downstairs to get Sherlock another glass of water. When he returned, Sherlock was sitting upright, catching his breath.  
"I'm fine, John," he said immediately, his voice a mix between hoarse and groggy.  
John placed the glass of water on the bedside table, next to an empty glass. He sat down next to Sherlock.  
"Are you still sore?" he asked as he put a hand to Sherlock's forehead.  
Sherlock reluctantly nodded.  
"Well your fever seems to have gone down a little." He looked at his watch. "All right, it's three o'clock in the morning. Try to get back to sleep, will you?"  
"But I'm awake now," Sherlock answered, although his voice betrayed him.  
It sounded as if the sleeping medicine was still very much in effect. John didn't argue. He just grabbed his laptop, settled back in his spot, and opened it. Sherlock watched him as he opened his emails and began reading through them.  
Before he knew it, Sherlock had fallen asleep, and his head gently lolled onto John's left shoulder. He looked down to see if Sherlock was indeed asleep. He was. So John closed his laptop, sitting it on the side table, and he readjusted to make himself -and now the sleeping Sherlock- more comfortable. He rested his head on the curly mop of hair that belonged to his favorite consulting detective, moved his arm slightly behind Sherlock, and fell asleep once again.


End file.
